


It's the Hard Way, But it's the Right Way

by WriteMeToHell



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Antisemitism, Blood, Bullying, Canon Era, Fights, Gen, Post-Canon, some drinking, the les and jack bonding fic you never asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteMeToHell/pseuds/WriteMeToHell
Summary: Three years after the strike, Jack gets an unexpected visitor with an unexpected request.





	It's the Hard Way, But it's the Right Way

When Jack heard the knock on the apartment door the last person he expected to see was Les Jacobs.

Yet here he was- clothes askew, nose matted in blood, and sporting one of the worst black eyes he’d seen since the strike of ‘99. In the crappy gas lighting Jack could almost make out a sheen of blood covering his crowded, half grown in teeth. The two stared wordlessly at each other for what could have been seconds or hours. Then Les spoke.

“Can I come in?”

* * *

Cleaning wounds, Jack found, was just as tedious a task as it had been back when he was the unofficial nurse at the lodging house. Even before the serious beating the newsies had taken from Pulitzer’s goons, there was always some kid getting a busted nose because of a fight with another newsie over selling terf, or for pushing a Delancey too far, or that one time back in ‘96 where they had that weird rivalry with the messenger boys from the Telegraph Company (Jack recalled that fight had mostly come down to “they think they’re better than us ‘cause of those spiffy uniforms”). Crutchie also dealt with the occasional flare up from his leg when the weather got bad, and there was always at least four kids who came down with the flu during the winter season. Jack could count on one hand the number of times they had to splurge for a doctor.

With injuries like Les’, there wasn’t much you do except clean the wounds and wait. He gave Les some rags to be run under the spigot at the end of the hallway. Taking two battered shot glasses from the back of his cabinet, he poured in some cheap scotch he had been saving for Crutchie’s birthday. It was getting too lukewarm to be properly preserved anyways. Les came back soon after, a dripping mass of rags tucked under his arm like a pigskin. He instantly caught sight of the drinks.

“Geez, does Davey know you’re getting me drunk?”

“You think I don’t know your brother? It’s for the pain, it shouldn’t mess you up too bad. Unless you’re as much a lightweight as Albert.”

Les snorted and emptied his rag pile onto the table. “You’ve never seen me at a Passover Seder. I can get through all ten plagues and four questions without getting tipsy.”

Jack vaguely knew what Les was talking about, having gotten the briefest of descriptions from David of the major Jewish holidays. From his understanding, Passover was the one where you ate a lot and were sad, Rosh Hashanah was the one where you ate a lot and were happy, and Hanukkah was the one you only made a big deal of so the kids wouldn’t feel left out while their goy friends celebrated Christmas. And you also ate a lot. Any excuse to get more of Esther Jacobs’ cooking was a reason to celebrate in Jack’s book.

He passed one shot glass to Les and they clinked them, half jokingly and half serious, the way the newsies used to play mock adult with their free water glasses during union meetings. Only now Jack was the adult. And Les wasn’t exactly a small fry either. He leaned back his head and shot it down the hatch. Les followed suit and immediately broke out into a heaving cough. Jack was about to get into the heimlich position before Les put up one shaky hand to ward him off. He gave a few more shuddering coughs into his sleeve, then exhaled and grinned up at Jack. His eyes watered painfully. Jack tried not to wince as he grabbed the nearest rag and started cleaning at the cut right above Les’ brow.

“So. How many were there?”

“Are you gonna tell Davey?”

Jack paused. “Depends how much trouble you’re in. Was this a one time thing or will they be coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Do you owe them money or what?”

“Trust me Jack, it’s not like that at all.”

“You sure? ‘Cause that’s exactly what it looks like to me. I’ve known Race for ten years, you think I can’t tell when a deal’s gone bad?”

“I wasn’t gambling.” There was a new edge to Les’ voice. Jack wasn’t sure if he was about to yell or cry. He really hoped it was the former, it was way too late for him to deal with any soft emotions, especially from one of the last people he expected it from. He could never recall Les crying, not even when he almost socked him during the strike rally. The kid instead had looked sad, almost solemn after the shock had worn off. He found out later it was a Jacobs’ family tradition to suck up your anger whenever possible. Turn it into a more bearable emotion, like disappointment. Jack motioned for Les to hold the rag to his head while he went to the kitchen drawer to grab some bandages.

“So who did it then? Anyone I know?”

Les shook his head. “Nothing like that. They go to my school.”

“Some school kid did this?”

“Not a school kid, a bunch of them. They cornered me after the last bell rung.”

“How many were there?”

“‘Bout six.”

Six to one! Not even Brooklyn would fight that dirty.

“Christ, it wasn’t even that bad when Davey was going! Did they change the water or something?”

“It ain’t usually this bad.” Actually, it was usually pretty good. Unlike David, Les thrived in social situations. It was the academic part that got him twisted in knots. That was what hurt him the most about today; he had thought at least some of those guys were his friends. And he was the one who was supposed to be streetwise, not some snotty schoolboys. He felt like he had been duped, played for a sucker.

“So what made this time different?”

“Huh?” Les hadn’t expected Jack to probe this much.

“You said it’s usually not that bad, what made today different?” Jack was now back at the table, unwinding a long coil of gauze. Les bent his head over to let Jack wrap it around his head.

“I mighta...swung first.”

“You kidding me?”

“I know, I know!”

Jack gave a low whistle and shook his head. He snipped off the leftover gauze and tossed one of the drenched rags from the pile to Les, motioning for him to clean off his nose. Les dabbed at the crusted blood lightly, wincing at the touch. Jack walked into his closet bedroom, coming out with an old bath towel, and handed it to Les.

“Six against one, and you give the first blow? What the hell made you blow up like that?”

“It’s not important.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Les really did not want to have this conversation. He threw his nose-rag on the table with a frustrated whine. Jack didn’t even blink

“You sound like Katherine!”

“She’s been a good influence on me. Reporters ask the best questions, you know? And right now the Kath in me is asking why a kid with more than enough smarts would deliberately hit a guy who’s surrounded by five of his closest buddies.”

Les tucked his chin into soft indent where the neck met the collarbone. He sheepishly picked up the rag again and began to meddle with the loose string around the edges.

“He provoked me. Caught me off guard, you know?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. Les wasn’t looking him in the eye.

“He say something to you?” Les began to fidget more fervently. Still no eye contact.

“You wouldn’t get it.” Still looking down. Still playing with that bloody rag. This wasn’t Les, this wasn’t Les at all.

“Oh yeah? Try me.” Look at him dammit! Look at him!

“They asked me what kind of Jew I was.” _Oh_.

* * *

Jack needed another drink. Maybe two. It was...what, nearly nine now? Did the Jacobs know where their son was? He was about to tell Les he should make a call to his folks but realized he didn’t have a telephone to make the call. And the Jacobs sure as hell didn’t have one to receive it. Christ, working in an office five days a week was turning him soft. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a sharp exhale.

One thing at a time, Kelly. One thing at a time.

“So, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Les looked up from his bloody handkerchief and rolled his eyes.

“Ask Davey, I’m sure he could give you a primer from his school days. They want to know if I’m cheap or stupid.” He twisted his face into a mock sneer and altered his voice into a whine.“‘Is your family too cheap to get you new shoes, or is your pop just too dumb to get a better job?’” He rolled his eyes a second time and huffed. “My dad got passed over for a promotion again. Jews don’t get promotions, especially if they can’t stand for hours on the job like they used too.”

Les went back to cleaning off his nose with a new aggression. It didn’t seem to be helping much. If anything it seemed to be irritating his nose more.

“You keep that up an’ you’ll open the wound again.” Les threw the rag on the ground and glared at it. How can one kid look so old but so young at the same time? Jack sighed, grabbed a clean rag, and took a seat by the kitchen table. He silently beckoned Les over and began to clean the residue blood with an expert hand. Les’ scowl had softened a bit.

“I’ll be straight with you- this is a problem for Davey to solve. I ain’t the expert on settling school fights. And the Jew thing-” He looked up into the boy’s eyes. They were unreadable. “I...can’t really help you there either. I’ll be honest with you, if someone calls me a mick, I sock ‘em. But that’s happened to me maybe three, four times. Being a newsie, that shit never mattered. But I don’t want to tell you the wrong thing, get you into more trouble than you’re already in, and have Davey on both our asses. It ain’t worth it.” Jack finished the cleaning job and stood up to admire his handiwork. Les was still visibly injured, but it no longer looked as if he was about to keel over at any moment.

“This is the best I can do for now. Get some ice first thing in the morning for that eye and hold it there for the next few days. It’ll take a while to heal, but no one will have to shill for a doctor.”

“So that’s it?” Les was looking at the floor again. Jack raised an eyebrow.

“What else do you want me to do? I ain’t a miracle worker.”

“I didn’t come here just to get cleaned up, I just thought…” Les stuffed his hands into his pockets and seesawed onto the balls of his feet. “You tell me, ‘go to Davey, go to Davey’, but I know he’ll just say to be the bigger man and ignore them. I ain’t Davey, I mean I can’t be Davey. He can deal with it his way ‘cause he’s got smarts and can talk his way out any situation. That won’t work for me. I came to you ‘cause I don’t want this to happen again. And I know you can teach me how.”

He finally looked up, and even in the dim light Jack could see how hard he was fighting to keep the tears back. His face was flushed under that damn black eye and for a split second Jack saw a much younger Crutchie, fresh out of the refuge.

Aw Christ. Davey was gonna kill him. But then again….

“Look there’s no way to hide this from your folks, they’re gonna want to know what happened. They’ll probably lay easy on you if you tell them the truth. If I’ve learned anything from Davey’s school days though, those brats probably won’t get the justice they deserve. So…” He gestured for Les to take a seat, then grabbed one of his own, ‘cause God knows he needed one.

“Single out the ring leader. Tell him you want a rematch; a fair fight, off school grounds. Make sure his buddies are around when you ask so he can’t chicken out. Any alleyway will do, as long as it’s wide enough. Get him on your turf. And tell him to bring his friends, so they’ll get the message too.”

Les gave him an incredulous look. “And what if they just gang up on me again?” Jack pushed himself to the edge of his seat and put his hands on his knees, beckoning Les in as if he had a secret.

“Bring back up. You want to prove you’re the bigger man in the situation, but don’t let them think you’re stupid.You’re close with Snipes right?” Les nodded. Sniper was only a year and a half older than Les, but could put on the veneer of a much older, vicious man when he needed to. He also had plenty of experience when it came to racism, making him the perfect ally for Les.

“If you get him...and say Buttons and Elmer, and they’ll make for pretty good team. They might even spread the word around, get every Manhattan newsie on your side. If his friends try any funny business, your friends will just put them back in line. As for fighting…” Les looked at him expectantly. Jack sighed and pushed a still wet hand through his hair. “If you set the fight a week in advance, I can give you some pointers. But only-!” Les was smiling so widely it looked like it hurt. Jack was not expecting to get the kid’s hopes up this much. “-only if Davey gives the okay. I ain’t going behind a friend’s back, and you shouldn’t neither.” Les deflated a bit a scuffed the edge of his shoe against the chair leg.

“And if he says no?”

“Go on with the fight. You’ll just need to get your pointers from somewhere else. Try Race, or maybe Finch. They’ll be more than happy to take you under their wing.” Jack sighed and massaged his temples. “Listen, it’s late. You folks are probably worried sick by now. Do you want me to walk to you home?”

Les shook his head. “Naw, it ain’t too far. Thanks for all this Jack, really. I know I just came out of nowhere and all,but...thanks.” He stood up and looked at him with big, sincere eyes. It was a relief to see. Les smiled one last time and started heading towards the door. Jack turned towards the pile of bloody rags, thinking about the laundry he’d have to do tomorrow when he paused.

“Wait, Les!”

Les’ hand was on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

“If Davey says no, and knowing your brother he probably will, let me show you one thing.”

Les came back over, a little cautiously this time. Jack held out his hand. “Show me how you make a fist.”

Les shrugged and tightened his own hand into a ball, curling his fingers in and wrapping them around with his thumb. Jack made a tutting noise.

“Now see, that ain’t good. You left your thumb out, see? That’ll be your one way ticket to a broken hand. But see, if you do this-” Jack gently untucked the hand, reshaping it so that the thumb was now underneath the second and third knuckles.”-that’ll protect your thumb and give your opponent a sharper blow. That’s the first rule of fighting kid; Protect, then defend.”

Les looked down at his hand “Protect, then defend.”

Jack swore he could still here the boy whispering it to himself down the hallway and into the darkened streets where it blended it with the streetcars and the sirens and million other noises. He refilled his shot glass and took another swig. It was late. Too late to think about the ramifications of what he just done, too late to think about what Davey would say when he found out what he had been teaching his baby brother, and too late to think about Les’ future in the long run. The kid was more newsie then schoolboy at this point. What do you do with a boy that no longer fits with his family’s image of what a perfect kid should be?

It was too late to think about any of it.

And anyway, he had illustrations to finish. Telegraphs to send to Katherine about rescheduling their date. More scotch to buy, since he was getting dangerously close to finishing the bottle.

Yes, Jack definitely had enough thinking for tonight.

* * *

 

A week later Jack found a hastily put together package outside his front door. Inside there was what looked to be a starched school boy’s collar, ripped and stained with mud. Next to it was a note, done in a very familiar hand;

_Dear Jack,_   
_Thanks_

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey look it's the one shot I wrote while procrastinating on literally everything else in my life. 
> 
> Since I'll be in school until May, my updating schedule is gonna be wonky. At this point I'm still working on the second chapter of "We Can Never..." and I have no idea when it's gonna be ready. I'm also planning out the first chapter of another multi chapter fic that should come out sometime in the near future. By July I'm planning to have a legit schedule down, if I can get my bearings together *fingers crossed!*
> 
> But what I do have is tumblr where I mostly repost shit (mostly newsies memes) and keep my fic notes organized, so please go ahead and follow me if you can. It's just me and two porn bots right now XD  
> https://writemetohell.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> I also want to mention that this is my second fic that deals with antisemitism, and I want to be completely transparent and state on the record that I am not Jewish. I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood in a mostly Jewish town with Jewish friends ect. ect. ect. but these experiences are not my own. If I get anything wrong or say anything that's out of line, please let me know. 
> 
> The title comes from that song in Dear Evan Hansen that's been stuck in me head for the past two weeks and still makes me cry (but let's be honest that whole show makes me cry)
> 
> If you can, please comment! I was working out of the box here and would really like to know what you guys think!
> 
> Thanks <3


End file.
